“No route will be entirely safe,” Ager said. “We must weigh what we think the risks will be and choose the least dangerous.”
“That may be the most direct route,” Kumul said. “The least expected action is often the wisest, and time is important. If we take months to get to the Oceans of Grass, it will give our enemies the breathing space they need to secure their position, or to work on enough of the tribes of the Northern Chetts to stop any rebellion from ever getting off the ground.”
“I can’t dispute what you say, Constable,” Ager said quietly. “In the end, of course, the decision isn’t really ours to make.”
“What do you mean?” Lynan asked, confused. “Why go through all this discussion otherwise?”
“What I mean, your Highness, is that Kumul, Jenrosa, and I cannot make the final decision. You must.”
“Why me? We’re all in this together—”
“Start thinking like a true prince, lad,” Kumul said. “In the end, you have to make all the decisions… all the vital ones, anyway. This is your cause. Eventually, you will have to stand alone, especially if you’re to lead a…” He glanced quickly at Jenrosa. “… rebellion. We can advise, even cajole, but we can’t make policy, we can’t decide what path the rebellion must take, we can’t denounce your enemies for you. All of these things must be done by the leader— by you.”
Lynan was silent. He did not want this responsibility. Not yet, anyway. Why were they forcing the decision on him now, when he knew no more than they about the situation?
For a while they sailed on, the water gently lapping against the side of the boat, the sun warming their faces.
“Lynan?” Jenrosa urged quietly.
“I’m thinking,” he replied curtly, angry at his companions and conscious of them staring at him. At last he said, “I don’t want to make this decision.”
Ager sighed. “It’s not a decision any of us want to make. Still, it has to be made.”
Lynan muttered something.
“What was that?” Jenrosa politely enquired.
“I said we might as well go by the shortest possible route.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’? Because you want me to make the decision, and that’s the decision I’ve made, that’s why.”
“That’s hardly an answer,” Ager reproved. “As your followers—in fact, at this point, as your only followers—we deserve more respect and courtesy. Otherwise, your rebellion might be very short-lived.”
“I don’t understand any of this. You insisted I make the decision. I didn’t want to—”
“Will you listen to yourself?” Jenrosa snapped. “You’re starting to sound like a spoiled brat. We’re not bees, Lynan, we’re people. If we don’t know on what grounds you’ve made the decision, how can we advise you and how can we respect your decision?”
“You mean every time I make a decision I have to explain it to everyone?”
“Not every time,” Ager assured him good humoredly. “Just most of the time. Once you’ve shown you can make good and wise decisions on your own, no one will question you.”
Lynan breathed out resignedly. “I think we should take the shortest possible route because, as Kumul pointed out, time is of the essence, and because we don’t know yet whether or not Areava has blocked the way. If she hasn’t, we’ll get through to achieve our goals all the quicker. If she has, it won’t be too late to choose another, longer, route.”
“Well, that’s pretty comprehensive,” Jenrosa acknowledged.
“Yes, very sound,” Ager agreed expansively.
“Excellent choice, your Highness,” Kumul said. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Thank you so much,” Lynan said. “And I assume the most direct way is by boat?”
“Aye,” Ager agreed. “We follow the coastline until we come to the mouth of the Gelt River, and then sail up the Gelt until we are within one or two days’ march of its source in the Ufero Mountains, on the other side of which we will find the Oceans of Grass.”
“How long do we stay with the boat?”
“About ten days, depending on the wind.”
Wonderful, Lynan thought. Another ten days over water. And it was my decision.
As they sailed on, the coastline gradually changed in appearance. Close to Kendra, soft yellow beaches gave way to gently rolling farmland, but as they approached the Ebrius Ridge—the basalt uplifts that separated the Horn of Lear from Chandra to the north—the topography became increasingly steep until eventually high cliffs marked the boundary between sea and land. Lynan felt small and insignificant under the towering black wall, and vulnerable and frail against the white-capped waves that crashed into the cliffs, sending great sheets of spray into the air. Circling above them like thin strips of shadow was a cloud of kestrels, springing from their aeries in the face of the rock wall and searching for fish and other birds.
“They make me uneasy,” Kumul muttered, staring at their flying escort with suspicion. “The kestrel is no longer a bird of good omen.”
“I think they’re beautiful,” Jenrosa declared in their defense. “They mean us no harm.” Her gaze lifted to a group of kestrels that broke away from their fellows and flew further out to sea.
“Let us talk about something else,” Ager said. “Whether or not the birds bring us bad luck, there is nothing we can do about it.”
“Let’s talk about ships, then,” Jenrosa said, still watching the kestrels.
“What type of ships?” Lynan asked.
“Whatever type is coming our way,” she said calmly. The others looked up at her sharply, and then followed her gaze.
“I can’t see anything,” Ager said.
“Nor I,” Kumul added.
“You won’t for a while,” Jenrosa said. “But I’ve been talking to sailors and navigators now for three years, and I know that kestrels have learned to follow our ships because of the refuse we throw overboard.” She pointed to the birds that had left the cliffs. “And they are hovering above a ship.”
“Damn,” Ager swore under his breath. “She’s right. I’m an idiot for forgetting. Lynan, help Jenrosa with the tiller. Kumul, help me pull down the sail. We must row.”
“Row!” Kumul declared. “The waves will send us against those cliffs!”
“Lynan and Jenrosa will steer us very carefully, won’t you? But with the sail up, we’re too easy to spot.”
Ager and Kumul quickly furled the sail and stowed the mast. They took the oars and sculled strongly and evenly toward the looming cliffs, Kumul pacing his stroke to match Ager’s.
“When we’re two hundred paces out, Jenrosa, steer us parallel to the shore,” Ager said. “We daren’t go any closer than that.”
Jenrosa nodded. Lynan, constantly looking over his shoulder, was the first to see the approaching sail. “There she is!” he cried.
The other three peered toward the horizon. They caught a glimpse of a red sail, and soon after a long, sleek hull. The sail was emblazoned with a golden spear crossed by two swords. A warship.
“Do you think it’s searching for us?” Lynan asked.
Ager shook his head. “Possibly, or it’s carrying messages from Areava to King Marin of Aman. Either way, if it sees us, we could be in trouble.”
They were very close to the cliffs now, and the waves were getting harder to resist, even with both Lynan and Jenrosa pushing against the tiller. They could see huge, jagged boulders at the base of the cliffs, and a curtain of spray hung permanently in the air, drifting over the sea and drenching them. The rudder seemed to have a mind of its own, twisting and flexing beneath the hull.
“We have to move away!” Jenrosa shouted, trying to be heard over the roar of crashing waves. Lynan glanced fearfully at the rocks, now less than two hundred paces from them.
“Keep your course!” Ager ordered. “The warship is closing. It must have seen us!”